Under the Dog Star
by The Seamonkey
Summary: Repost. Beneath the watchful eye of one of the closer stars to our system, a heated, secretive romance blossoms one night on the grass beside the lake, outside Hogwarts castle. HHr.
1. The Night

**Disclaimer: We all know I don't own anything except the scene idea, or else I'd be rich and famous, and as even groceries are somewhat of a luxury right now, anyone can see I'm not either rich or famous. :P  
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**A/N: REPOST. I've just been going through old files and stories on my laptop, and I found this one, and decided to give it a look-over; one week later, I've edited it, reworked it, totally rewritten some parts and have pronounced it ready to be read. So here you go! Enjoy!**

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Harry leaned back on his hands to watch the moon rise. It was just a silver sliver in the slowly darkening sky, accented by the peach and rosy glow of the sunset. The lake was perfectly still behind him, only a few small ripples showing the slight breeze that rustled the tall grass all around the water's edge. He shifted a little, trying unsuccessfully to find a warmer spot on the ground. His eyes fixed on the star just to the right of the moon, the brightest in the sky and the only one he could see so far that night—Sirius, the Dog Star.

Sitting there on the grass by the lake, no one else around for what seemed like miles, he could almost feel Sirius in his dog shape, rubbing fondly against his arm. Warmth seeped slowly through Harry, then slipped away again as an angry tear escaped his eye. He sighed at the sight of himself. How typical of an angsty teenager to be sitting outside alone and crying over a dead loved one. He roughly brushed the tear away with his sleeve, blinking others back into his eyes and exhaling.

Somewhere a ways off he heard a twig snap. Attributing it to an animal, possibly Crookshanks, he paid the sound no heed until he heard something coming towards him through the grass. He looked over his shoulder and saw a rather short, curly-haired girl making her way over. He smiled and turned back to the moon and the star, waiting for her to arrive.

"Hullo," he said when he judged her to be within hearing range. He was rewarded by a quiet "Hi" in return. Hermione sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees for protection against the slight chill in the air. They sat awhile in silence, watching the moon rise. Then Harry pointed at the single star. "That's Sirius."

Hermione smiled sadly. "The Dog Star—of course. I think he would have liked it that you have something constant to remember him by."

"Yeah. Me too."

They sat again in silence. Harry was conscious of the hastily blinked away tears that, at points, filled Hermione's own eyes. It seemed it was an evening for crying.

They were still sitting there without speech, watching the moon rise and the stars come out, while the sun set and the sky darkened from blue to navy to black in succession. Soon enough it was completely night, and as the moon was barely there, there was ultimately very little light to see by. Harry saw Hermione shiver out of the corner of his eye, and she unconsciously huddled a bit closer to him for warmth. The thought crossed his mind to put his arm around her, but he decided against it.

Lately it seemed that the way she acted around him was a bit strange. She would look as though she was about to say something, then stop herself before she could and turn away. She was much quieter than she usually was, as well. Harry didn't understand or particularly want to, so he tried to ignore it when he noticed it happening, but it had been going on for a couple of months now.

He glanced down, and saw that same now-familiar look on her face again. Her gaze was fixed on the Dog Star but her thoughts were obviously far from it. She opened her mouth, closed it. Harry decided he'd had enough of all that.

"What?"

Hermione jumped slightly; the sudden break in the long silence had startled her out of her reverie. "Oh—nothing."

"What?" Harry insisted. She looked torn.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Why should I worry about it? What is it?"

"Harry!" she said with a small laugh. "I've told you—it's _nothing_. I wasn't going to say anything; your imagination is running away with you."

"I saw that look on your face again."

"What look?"

"That far-off one. You were going to say something."

"No, I wasn't. And how could you see me anyway? It's completely dark out."

"I can always tell with you."

In the dark he couldn't tell if she blushed, but she squirmed slightly and looked down as though she had. Harry thought he might have made her uncomfortable, and hurried to make amends. "I mean, I've known you so long—I know your habits by now," he said, frowning and inwardly cursing his inability to say the right thing as Hermione didn't relax. His stomach twinged with a funny feeling. Now she'd start being all weird again, just as she had the other day when he'd sung her praise after she helped him finish his Potions assignment. He sighed in frustration. "Are you cold?"

"No, why?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"Then why are you fidgeting?"

Her hands, which had previously been fiddling around with the clasp on her robes, came to a rest in her lap and she was still. "Sorry."

"No—no, I didn't mean stop, I just wanted to know why."

"Oh." She stayed still, directing her gaze up at the sky. Harry poked her side, making her flinch and laugh, looking up at him in surprise. "What was that for?"

"You're being odd. I want to know why."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you."

"Aha! So there _is_ something!" Harry exclaimed almost gleefully. This time he could see the colour that rose in her cheeks, despite the darkness. She shook her head too quickly to cover her fluster. Harry grinned. "Go on, tell me."

"It's _nothing_."

"Pfft," he scoffed. "Come on, you can tell me."

She blushed darker and mumbled something under her breath.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that, what did you say?"

"I _said_, none of your business."

Harry rolled his eyes and temporarily was quiet. He lay back flat on the grass, putting his hands behind his head and watching the stars high above him. It was a remarkably clear night, with not a cloud to be seen. He identified a few constellations before slipping into silence, trying to remember a conversation he'd had with Ron a few weeks ago. Harry blinked slowly, gathering his thoughts.

xXx

_Harry slumped back in his chair in the common room, looking disgustedly at the pieces of parchment strewn across the small table with scribbles of notes all over them. "We've been working on this stupid thing for hours, mate."_

"_I know. It's starting to get on my nerves."_

"_Yeah. Where's Hermione when you need her, eh?"_

_Ron rolled his eyes. "Probably up in her dorm, pining away over that poor bloke she fancies."_

"_What?"_

"_She never told you?"_

"_No!"_

"_Ah, she's just got a bit of a thing for some chap. I saw her moping about the other evening and she blurted out this whole story—how she'd fancied someone for a good while now but there was no way he'd ever see her that way or something. Girl stuff," he said offhandedly, but Harry shrewdly caught the glimmer of anxiety in his friend's eyes. Ron himself fancied Hermione._

_Harry had known for months, ever since Ron had casually mentioned that he was planning on asking her to the end-of-year ball that had been held annually for the past two years. The reason he had given was that he didn't want to have to put up with any of the other girls in their year who giggled altogether too much, but Harry knew better. He'd been watching Ron's behaviour lately. His friend was clearly a bit smitten._

"_Did she say who it was?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head._

"_No," he said, sounding disappointed. "Didn't even say which house he's in."_

"_He could be outside of Hogwarts."_

"_I doubt it. She'd only see him in the summer, and she's either off on trips with her folks or with us during the summer." It was a surprisingly clever observation coming from Ron, and Harry nodded in agreement._

"_That's true."_

"_He's prob'ly not in Gryffindor, either. The only guys in our year are Neville, Seamus and Dean, and I don't think it's one of them."_

"_He could be older," Harry speculated, raising his eyebrows. Ron shrugged._

"_Maybe. She went for Krum, after all," he muttered moodily. "I guess he could be. Who's older that we know?"_

"_Uh...I dunno. Could be anyone. You sure she didn't mention how old he was, in passing?" Harry asked, and Ron shook his head. Harry realized that he was getting caught up in it all. He suddenly felt very eager to find out just who this mysterious person was, and why Hermione was keeping his identity a secret. It must be someone unexpected or strange, otherwise why shouldn't she tell her two best friends who it was? He was struck with a sudden thought. "What if it's one of your brothers?"_

"_What if it's _what?!_" Ron exclaimed._

"_What if it's Fred or George, or something?" Harry said with growing excitement. "It would explain why she couldn't tell you, because you'd think it was too weird!"_

"_No! No way. It couldn't POSSIBLY be one of them. She disapproves of everything they do, she couldn't fancy one."_

"_Then Bill, or Charlie?"_

"_No! Harry, she does _not_ fancy one of my brothers, and that's just—that. That would be _beyond_ strange." Ron shook his head and dropped his chin into one hand. "I bet it's Percy."_

_Harry burst out laughing. "Oh, definitely!"_

"_I bet she pines after him, that's why she wants us to resolve our differences so badly. Arrggh, Hermione fancies Percy!"_

_They both fell about laughing. At that moment, Hermione herself came down the stairs from the girls dormitories. The two boys looked up, grinning, and Ron tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face as he called her over. "It's okay, Hermione," he said in a voice strangled with suppressed mirth. "We know who you fancy. I don't hold it against you. Just don't go snogging him where we can see you," he snorted, and the boys broke back into roars of laughter. Hermione had turned white as a sheet._

"_What?"_

"_We know you fancy Percy," Harry chortled. Hermione almost staggered sideways, fierce relief written all over her face. A shaky smile then came over her lips, and she laughed along with the other two._

"_You idiots," she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't fancy Percy! Of all people!"_

"_Thank god!" Ron exclaimed. "You had us very worried for a few minutes there."_

"I _had _you_ worried? You're the ones who dreamt up Percy!"_

_All three friends started laughing again, and didn't stop for quite a while._

xXx

With the workload that was being piled on by all the professors, Harry had forgotten all about Hermione's secret crush up until this point. He reached up and tugged on the sleeve of her robes. "Do you still fancy that bloke?"

Hermione stiffened. Harry's spirits fell. He'd gone and upset her again. "No," she said tightly, not turning around to look at him. Harry was mildly surprised.

"You don't?"

"No."

He sat up and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to see her face. He grinned when he recognized the guilty look she'd wanted to hide. "You _do_ still fancy him! Go on, who is it, Hermione? I won't tell, I promise."

"It's no one."

"Is it Percy?" he asked cheekily, and she elbowed him with a reluctant laugh.

"_No_, it is not."

"Anyone I know?"

"N-no."

"You never were any good at lying, Hermione. Is he at Hogwarts?"

"No."

"I'll take that as a yes. In our year?"

"N-no."

"Gryffindor?"

"No!"

"Well, we've made a lot of progress in the past few seconds! Let's see," Harry said, ticking them off on his fingers, "the mystery man is a Gryffindor in our year. That leaves Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron, and me. Which of the five is it, Hermione dear?" he asked, grinning amusedly while he watched her turn various different shades of red. "Is it...Neville?" She shook her head and looked at him like he was strange in the head. He laughed. "Well, it's not Ron or me, so it must be Seamus or Dean. Seamus?" he asked.

"Nope."

"Dean?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "But he's dating Ginny."

"No, it is not Dean, Harry."

"Well, I've named everyone then! What is it, _me_?" Harry laughed, raking his fingers through his ever-messy hair.

"NO!"

The suddenness of her emphatic response made him start in surprise. "What'd I say?"

She cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing deeply. "No. I'm sorry, Harry—I can't tell you who it is."

"But it's either me or Ron, isn't it?"

She kept her eyes closed, looking as though she was gathering courage. Then she sighed, looked up at the stars, and whispered, "Yes."

"Oh..." Harry's mind spun. It was Ron, he knew it. Why else would she have told him this much? Ron fancied Hermione; she reciprocated. He, Harry, would have to tell her about Ron's feelings. Then they could be together and be happy, and Harry would see them every day holding hands and laughing instead of fighting and they would have each other for comfort when Harry was off saving the world, he thought with a hint of bitterness that he quickly squashed. But...

A sudden pang stabbed through his chest. It couldn't be jealousy, Harry knew, because he wanted his friends to be happy. And they would he happy if they realized their feelings for each other. It was with a stab of shock that Harry realized himself that he didn't want that. He would be ousted from the trio; that was the only way it could end. Sure, they'd try to include him, but after a while they'd want all kinds of boyfriend-girlfriend time alone together, and Harry would be left out in the dirt. It felt like a bucket of water had just been dumped over his head, drenching him in cold truth. He didn't want Ron and Hermione together. Just thinking of the two of them, locked in an embrace—it filled his mouth with a bitter taste. What was this? It sure felt like jealousy. But that was ridiculous.

And anyway, who was he to stand in their way? With a resigned grimace, he gathered his courage. "Hermione..."

"Hmm?"

"Ron—Ron's fancied you for months and months, possibly years—if I'm right."

"What?" she breathed, turning to look at Harry, her face frozen in apprehension.

"Yeah. So go—go do what you have to do. It's him, isn't it? It would only make sense. Right?"

"It _would_ make sense," she whispered, looking down. Harry nodded, swallowing hard in an unsuccessful attempt to crush the large lump in his throat.

"Yeah. Exactly. So...go on, then." Harry couldn't look at her. He couldn't explain this bewildering feeling, couldn't understand where it was coming from. He couldn't do a lot of things, but he _could_ be the bigger person and send Hermione up to Ron where they would both be happy. Harry glanced sideways at her. Why hadn't she moved? Why hadn't she gone? Why hadn't she...Harry's eyes widened almost comically as he finally put two and two together.

She'd said that it WOULD make sense, as though it wasn't true but should be. She'd never actually told him it was Ron. He'd just assumed that because Ron liked her, it must be returned. She said she couldn't tell him who it was—why not, if it had been Ron? Surely she would want to tell him, so he could help her get Ron's attention. But it was Harry that she was always acting strangely around. His head reeled. Hermione didn't fancy Ron at all. Her intensity in denying that it was Harry earlier...it all fit. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. Just how stupid WAS he? He turned his whole body to face her. She looked up, timidly meeting his wide-eyed gaze through a thin opening in the curtain of golden-brown curls covering her face. Harry just stared.

"Have you figured it out yet, then?" she asked in a small voice. "I know it won't happen pretty much ever, and I shouldn't even still be out here now, but—I just wanted to stay to apologize for making you uncomfortable—"

Harry quickly shook his head. "You didn't. It's okay."

"Well, I'm sorry—I'll go," she said, moving to get up. Harry caught her hand, then dropped it like a hot coal when she met his gaze again. There was so much embarrassed wretchedness in her eyes.

"Stay?" he asked simply, looking up at her.

Hermione blushed prettily—where had that word come from? When had he ever thought of her as pretty?—and she sat back down, facing him. For the longest time they just stared at each other, one wary, one still quite bewildered. Then Harry grinned guiltily, and Hermione started to laugh, and somehow, suddenly all of this was the funniest thing he'd ever experienced, and the two friends laughed themselves breathless. Harry reached out and folded her to him in a rare hug, both still laughing. She slipped her arms around him as well, resting her head on his shoulder. She seemed to fit there perfectly, more so than anyone else he'd ever held had. After a while she drew her head back to look at him, smiling shyly as she did. "So...are we okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling too. "I, uh...can I ask...how long?"

She squirmed, but he didn't let her go. Silly girl. Heaving a sigh and settling back against him, she muttered, "Long enough. Thank you for being...decent about it. Oh, god, you won't tell Ron, will you?" she asked, struggling again to sit upright and looking pleadingly at Harry. "He'll make fun of me until _forever_."

"I won't tell him."

"Thank you." After an awkward moment where Hermione fidgeted and Harry fought that returning funny feeling in his stomach, she turned away and drew her legs up to her chest again, resting her chin on her knees. The ensuing silence left Harry free to digest what had just happened.

So. Hermione fancied him. _Hermione_ fancied _him,_ Harry. How bizarre. How...strangely pleasant. He couldn't think of another time when a girl had expressed feelings for him—aside from being asked to the Yule Ball by a couple of strangers in fourth year—and it was quite nice, really. And it was _Hermione_. Pretty much the most important girl in his life, now he thought about it; one of a small number, too. Never having been one to have tons of friends in the first place, Harry had less female friends than most people, and he didn't know what he would do without Hermione. How would he ever have been able to understand the opposite sex if she hadn't been there to explain things to him?

Speaking of which, depending on how long she had had fancied him, last year must have been _torture_ for her. All that drama about Cho—had Hermione started having inklings of feelings for him even then? How must she have felt when Cho got so angry about being jealous of Hermione? It was all a mystery to Harry. He didn't even know how _he_ felt.

Didn't he? They were friends, they were best friends. Evidently Hermione felt more than that for him, but where exactly did that leave Harry? She'd said right out that she didn't expect anything from him. She didn't believe he felt the same way. And he didn't, right? They were just friends, as far as he was concerned. There was nothing out of the ordinary there.

So why was he second-guessing himself now? Was it only because he'd learned that she was interested that he was getting all discombobulated? That had to be it—but now she was shifting position on the grass, and her arm brushed his, and Harry felt again that baffling rush of nervous tension rise in his stomach. He was going mad right before his own eyes. Utterly perplexed now, he glanced sideways at Hermione, who had gone very still, and saw her gaze peeping sideways right back at him. Oops. They both grinned, and then laughed. Harry spotted a tiny dimple form in the hollow of her cheek and tried to remember when the last time had been that she'd laughed with him before tonight. Could it really have been months ago? It seemed preposterous, but he just couldn't think of a recent time that they'd been easy together. Probably because she'd been all bent up inside over him, he supposed.

"Harry, are you cold?"

He blinked, and looked at her again. "No, why? Are you?"

Her eyes sparkled for a moment. "You're fidgeting."

Harry looked down at his lap and consciously stilled his hands. He hadn't even realized he'd been fiddling around with his shoelace. "Oh. Er." Yes, great, really eloquent response there. Next he'd be hiding his face and reluctantly confessing things. When he blinked owlishly over at her again, he saw Hermione fighting down a smile. Well, damn her anyway. She was so confusing and, and frustrating, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

Right! Harry could tell when enough was enough. Where the hell had _that_ last thought come from? It was the night air, he told himself firmly, and her being all shy and telling him things, and finally feeling like they were friends again after all this time of hardly speaking to each other because she'd been so awkward about fancying him this whole while—and yet as excuse after excuse ran through his head, he couldn't help thinking that her mouth just looked _awfully_ kissable. And even though it was _Hermione,_ his best friend _Hermione_ who was bookish and rule-oriented and mothering, Harry found himself rationalizing it. After all, she _did_ say she rather liked him. And it had been ages that she had, apparently. And what was the harm, anyway? If she wanted to, and despite himself and everything _he_ wanted to, then what was stopping them, really?

Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself. "So...er...let's be honest, I'm not great with this sort of stuff, so you'll have to help me out here..."

She looked at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Er, see, _bollocks..._oh, nevermind." He flushed hot under his collar and glowered into the distance. What was wrong with him? Why was it so bloody hard to just _say_ things? He already _knew_ she—so why couldn't he just—he was afraid, he realized, afraid that everything would change, afraid that if he said he wouldn't mind having a snog then suddenly she might decide she wasn't interested at all after all, because who knew if he was a good kisser or not, it wasn't as though he'd had much practice...

"Harry?" she said softly, and touched his arm. A fresh wave of nervous buzzing rose in his stomach. Unbelievable. He'd gone totally mad. Sparing a quick glance at her, Harry was mildly surprised to see that she'd inched closer. Well, crap.

He supposed there was nothing else for it, and said in one big burst, "Right, well, _you_ were the one who said you were all fuddled over me, and now you've got me going, alright, and it's all very confusing, and I'm not too sure I won't get hit for this, but I don't know what to think anyway, so, er." And, unable to believe he'd just said that and still further unable to believe what he was about to do, he kissed her.

It only lasted a moment or two. He couldn't be entirely sure he'd aimed squarely, as he'd shut his eyes, but it seemed alright to him. She wasn't yelling or hitting him or even crying, as far as he could tell, which was a definite plus. Another second went by. He squinched one eye open.

Hermione was sitting stock still, eyes wide open, looking so shocked that Harry almost wanted to laugh. She raised her hand and touched her lips, the movement unconscious. "What—what—you didn't have to—_Harry_—"

"I know I didn't have to," he muttered, his ears growing hot again. "You should've _said_ if you _minded_, I just thought—"

"I don't mind," she breathed, and suddenly, the look in her eyes was such that Harry felt very aware of each place that they were touching. Their legs, her foot, his knee, her hand brushing his face, and then _she_ was kissing _him_, and everything faded back to minor insignificance.

Although no fireworks exploded above in the night sky, there certainly were some going off in his stomach. He felt a thrill as her fingers dug gently into his back, pulling her body closer to his. One of her arms crept up and wrapped around his neck, and before Harry knew what was happening, his arms came up around her too, and he felt dizzy.

Abruptly they both realized what was happening. Adrenaline was pounding in his ears, and when he broke the kiss he got a head rush. She didn't look at him, but raked her fingers through her hair and stared at the ground, still breathing hard. "What are we _doing?"_ she whispered almost inaudibly. Harry, caught up in the moment, tried to lean in and kiss her again. He'd only captured her mouth for a second before she pulled away again and looked at him with round eyes. He sighed and sat back on the grass again, shaking his head.

"I don't know."

"We can't."

"Why not?" he asked, searching her eyes for an answer.

"_Ron._"

"Oh..." The impact of what she'd said in one word hit Harry like a brick wall. His eyes widened like hers.

"Oh my god, what are we going to do?" she moaned, letting her head fall back so she was staring at the sky.

"Who cares?" Harry said, throwing common sense to the wind. He leaned forward again but a look from Hermione stopped him, and he retreated sheepishly. "Yeah, okay, okay, I know," he said, sighing in frustration and dragging his fingers through his messy hair. "So now what?"

"I don't know, I don't know...we have to tell him."

"Tell him what? Oh, sorry Ron, Hermione and I spontaneously decided to start snogging like mad, terribly sorry about your crush on her," Harry said mockingly, and then looked seriously at her. "He still fancies you, Hermione."

"Yes...I know he does, it's rather obvious...but we have to tell him something."

"Okay. We'll tell him we went and had a chat, and that's it."

"_Harry_," she said reproachfully. "Are you planning on acting like nothing happened? Because I'm not that good an actor. You said so yourself."

"But...we can't tell Ron. He's already bitter because he thinks I get everything he doesn't, you know that."

"Oh, so I'm just something to be 'got'?" Hermione asked, raising one eyebrow. Harry rushed to fix his mistake.

"No! I—you're not something to be _got_, I just meant—" he broke off in confusion as Hermione laughed, shaking her head fondly at him.

"I know what you meant, it's okay," she chuckled.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Then why'd you _say_ that?" he asked exasperatedly. She just laughed. Harry, on an impulse, leaned forward quickly and kissed her. This time, he discovered with delight, she didn't resist, instead bringing her hands up and weaving them tightly in his hair. He moved closer, giddy with her scent, her taste; she, also giving in to the moment, allowed him to push her gently backwards, down onto the grass. He supported himself with one hand on the ground, and ran the other down the side of her face again, then trailed his fingers down her neck, across her shoulder, and down her side. She inhaled sharply and arched up against him, arms tightening around his neck.

"You're _much_ better at this than I expected," she whispered breathlessly against his lips. Harry laughed quietly.

"You too," he said, then slowly started easing his mouth off of hers, kissing her cheek, jaw, and neck. She sighed. He wasn't thinking about what he was doing; it just seemed to fit. And from what he could tell, she liked it, he thought with a happy grin. Hermione took his face in her hands and made him look down at her.

"Harry," she murmured, "much fun as this is...what are we going to do about Ron?"

"Same answer I gave two minutes ago."

"I don't know about you, but I couldn't possibly pretend all this never happened."

"I probably couldn't either. Ugh," he sighed, reluctantly sitting up and letting Hermione do the same. "We're back where we started. How did—"

"Harry?"

Both teenagers froze. Ron's voice floated across the grass to them from the direction of the school. Harry whipped his head around and could just make out a dark figure coming towards them. Hermione met his anxious gaze. "_Nothing happened!"_ he hissed as she quickly straightened her robes and smoothed her hair. "We were talking and that's all. If you try to tell him anything else, I'll deny it."

Hermione looked at him with pain in her eyes, making him wince inwardly. "Why don't you want him to know?"

"Because it can't happen anyway—you said it yourself!" he whispered desperately, looking over at the castle. Ron was getting closer. Harry raised his arm and waved to his friend, who waved back. Then he turned back to Hermione and took her by the shoulders, looking her straight on. "Voldemort already knows you and Ron are close to me. If he found out about this—"

"Don't give me that," Hermione said angrily, roughly brushing away the unwanted tears that suddenly filled her eyes. "Fine. Nothing happened."

"I'm sorry—"

"Shut up, he's coming," she whispered, and turned around to face Ron with a false smile. "Hi, Ron!" she called cheerfully. Their friend reached them a few seconds later, grinning lopsidedly.

"Hey guys! Whatcha doing out here? It's kind of cold out."

"Not really," Harry shrugged. "We were stargazing. Want to?"

"Actually, I sort of wanted to ask Hermione something," Ron said, a determined light in his eyes. Harry groaned to himself. Hermione patted the ground beside her.

"Sure, sit down. What's up?" she asked once Ron had settled himself on the grass. Harry flopped down on his back and stared up at the stars, not wanting to hear what he knew his friend was going to say. Ron had, most probably, finally gathered up the courage to ask Hermione to the end-of-year ball. He'd planned on it for months. Harry couldn't help but feel extremely jealous of his friend. _He_ wanted to ask Hermione to the ball. _Damn it_, Harry thought. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Now he would be jealous all the time, he realized with some degree of horror. Ron and Hermione would go to the ball, and Ron would hold her, and it was likely he would kiss her, and there was nothing Harry could do about it but watch from the sidelines with whoever would have him. _Stop it_, an annoying little voice inside his head told him firmly. _It's your own fault. You told her to pretend nothing happened. You told her Ron liked her_.

Harry groaned to himself again. He knew it was his fault. The stupid voice didn't have to rub it in.

"Harry?"

"What?" he said, coming out of his thoughts and turning his head to look at his friends.

"We're going in. Are you coming?" Hermione asked. She and Ron were looking at him expectantly, a big grin on Ron's face. Harry's eyes drifted down to their hands. Ron had Hermione's locked in an affectionate grip. Harry's stomach twinged unpleasantly and his throat tightened. He knew he had no right to be feeling this way, but he damn well was anyway. He shook his head and looked back up at the stars, his hands behind his head.

"Nah. I think I'll just stay out here for a while."

"Okay," Ron shrugged, and got to his feet. Hermione hesitated, then did the same, both of them turning away from Harry and starting to walk back up to the castle together. Harry closed his eyes, fully prepared to just fall asleep out here. It was Saturday night, who cared?

About a minute later, he heard someone hurrying back towards him, and he cracked one eye open. Hermione knelt down beside him and leaned down to whisper into his ear, "He asked me to the ball."

"I know. He's been planning on it for months."

"I told him yes."

"I figured by the big old grin on his face," Harry said, with an exaggeratedly cheerful wink that cost a great deal of effort. Hermione just looked at him.

"If you don't want me to, I won't. I'll tell him no after all."

Harry blinked. He turned to look up at her in surprise, but her face was completely serious. "Are you pulling my—?" he started, and she shook her head. He couldn't believe his ears. "Do—do you want to want to go with him?" he said, his throat suddenly dry.

"Well, I _did_ have someone else in mind originally, but he didn't ask me."

Harry closed his eyes, cursing his stupidity. "I want to."

"Like I said—if you don't want me to go with Ron, I won't."

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead, then looked up at her again. "I couldn't do that to Ron."

"That's what I thought you'd say. Well...I'll see you inside," she said, biting her lip, and Harry nodded. After a brief moment of hesitation she pressed shaking fingers to Harry's mouth and traced his jaw line. He closed his eyes. She stood up swiftly and hurried back to Ron, who was waiting a ways away. Harry raised his head just above the tall grass to see her catch up, and start walking away. Ron put his arm around her shoulders, and Harry rolled over onto his side. A sharpish blade of grass poked into his cheek and he shifted around it. What was he going to do now?


	2. The Ball

**A/N: STILL A REPOST. But again, I've done serious editing and reworking to much of this chapter as well as the first one, some more total rewriting, and have again pronounced it fit to be read by the public (lol). Reviews are greatly appreciated, even if they're only one short sentence. I'm always trying to improve. Hope you enjoy!**

--

Weeks passed.

Harry was silently frantic with nerves about the ball. What if he looked stupid? What if he tripped over his own feet again, at least once during every song, like at last year's ball? It was unheard of. He couldn't mess this one up. He had to impress.

During the past month, Harry had been a wreck. Getting less sleep than usual from staying awake and agonizing over Hermione had affected even his normally oh-so-sunny personality; he had become steadily grumpier and grumpier to everyone—except to her. With her, he simply became quieter and quieter. He never asked her for help with homework anymore, even though it was crunch time—the last month of school, and exams were coming up faster than anyone cared to think about. But Harry didn't ask Hermione for help once. Ron, on the other hand, was all over her—getting as much help as he could from her, having study sessions with her (Harry didn't want to think about what went on during _those_), sitting extra-close to her in the common room, at meals, and during classes. Harry hardly said a word to either of his friends lately.

He was always strangely polite to Hermione, however. If Ron wasn't there yet, Harry would always make sure she was sitting beside Ron. The redhead, totally blissful in his oblivion, didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, being preoccupied with Hermione. But _she_ noticed. She didn't say anything to Ron or to Harry about it, but like Harry, became quieter over the weeks. Harry couldn't tell if she appreciated his efforts, albeit small, but he continued with them.

He did know one thing—she didn't want him anymore. She acted so coolly towards him; sometimes Harry didn't know whether they were really even friends anymore. They rarely spoke outside of the casual 'hello's and conversation about class work. Aside from Hermione catching him looking at her a few times, they barely interacted with each other at all. They were around each other a lot—Ron couldn't notice a change—but they weren't nearly as close as they used to be. Harry wondered if they ever would be again. Or if he'd lost her entirely.

The day of the ball was drawing nearer and nearer, and Harry had no one to go with. Finally, with one week to go, he gathered up his shot nerves and decided to ask someone. If Hermione saw him come in alone she'd think him even more pathetic than she did already. Harry coughed, cleared his throat, dragged his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face, and started walking down to the common room, planning on asking Parvati or Lavender—or whoever else he saw first. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he headed for the couch to wait, but started in surprise when he found someone sitting there already.

"Ginny, are you okay?"

Ron's pretty younger sister jerked her head up at him, startled. Tears stained her face. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," she sniffed, desperately trying to gain control of herself. She brushed away the unshed tears and smiled shakily. "Hi, Harry—sorry for letting you see me like this—"

"It's fine," Harry said, his eyes wide. Well, this was awkward. "Er...what's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing—I think Dean and I just broke up," she said, her voice wobbling slightly before she coughed and straightened up, moving out of the curled-up position she'd been in. Harry felt extremely uncomfortable. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this?

"Er...I'm sorry. Are—are you okay?" he asked, not knowing what to do. Ginny nodded.

"Oh, yeah! I'm fine," she said, scrubbing her cheeks with one sleeve. "Really. Hey, want to go to the ball with me?"

"Want to _what?_" Harry stammered, his eyebrows shooting up until they were almost lost above his hairline. "I—"

"If you don't want to—I'm sure you already have someone to go with, but as I don't anymore, I thought I'd ask."

"No—I don't, actually. That would be—okay."

"You will?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," Harry said, nodding and swallowing. He hadn't even considered Ginny. Thoughts of Ron's possible disapproval swirled around in his head, but he sat down beside Ginny when she patted the seat by her on the couch. She curled up against him immediately, staring into the fire so its light reflected in her eyes. Harry, still not fully knowing what exactly was called for here, lifted his arm and rested it on the back of the couch so that Ginny could lean up against him without his shoulder getting awkwardly in the way. She did so, and sniffed softly. "You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, her voice cracking suddenly. "It's just that it was going so well—we'd only had little spats, nothing major. And we were just getting more serious—or at least I was getting more serious about him—and then we started fighting because he thinks I flirt with other guys too much, but I _don't_, and it kept getting worse...and he just told me an hour ago or so that he wasn't taking me to the ball if I was going to be so—so—" She broke off, took a deep shuddering breath to calm herself, and promptly burst into tears. Harry, alarmed to the point of wanting to be almost anywhere else, patted her head awkwardly.

"Yeah...well...I dunno what Dean's problem is, but...sounds like he was being a bit over-the-top, so maybe...maybe he wasn't good for you anyway?" Harry said, shrugging uncomfortably. Ginny looked up at him with huge, tear-filled eyes.

"You've always been so good at making me feel better, Harry," she said quietly, sounding watery, and slipped her arms around his middle, nestling up against him. Harry had never felt so extremely awkward and pleased with himself at the same time before, and therefore _still_ couldn't figure out what exactly to do, although he seemed to be doing alright so far. He looked at the fire. It was always burning there. Somehow it made him feel better to know that at least one thing at Hogwarts was constant. This whole tearful-girl-pressing-up-against-him situation was making him desperately uncomfortable.

_You wouldn't be complaining if it was Hermione._

Harry glowered at the return of that stupid nagging little voice at the back of his head. He didn't like it much at all.

_Oh, admit it. If Hermione was crying on your shirt you'd be fine with it._

Harry sank a mite lower into the couch cushions and stared sulkily into the fire. Ginny chose this opportunity to give a barely-audible little sob and snuggled even closer into him. If anyone walked in...

_What are you doing, going to the ball with Ginny? Do you think that will make Hermione jealous and solve all your problems?_

Harry almost groaned out loud. _Oh, shut up._

_--_

It was the night of the ball.

Harry straightened his collar for the fifteenth time in the past five minutes. He wanted to look his most impeccable for the ball that started in—he glanced at the clock on the wall beside the mirror—two minutes. He wasn't going to make it in time for the start – that was obvious, and fortunately, planned upon. Ginny wanted them to make a little entrance, by being late in fashion or something. Fashionably late, that was it. Harry shook his head in slight exasperation at her insistence.

xXx

"_If we're going to go to the ball together, I want it to be special!" she said firmly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one could overhear them. "I'll meet you by the portrait hole at nine-thirty, okay?"_

"_But...the ball starts at nine."_

"_We'll be fashionably late, Harry!" Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes. "No one will come right at nine anyway, only losers who have nothing better to do."_

There _is_ nothing better to do_, Harry thought. "Not true," he protested mildly, not just in self-defense. Hermione and Ron were going at nine, like most of Gryffindor. Ginny looked skeptically at him, lifting an eyebrow and laughing._

"_Whatever. _We're_ going at nine-thirty, unless you want to go alone."_

"_Fine, fine..." he consented, shrugging. Didn't much matter to him, as long as he had a date._

xXx

Harry coughed nervously and wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, then wiped the sleeve on a towel hanging by the mirror. Nothing could look out-of-place or disheveled for the ball. He wanted to impress this time—not like the End-of-Year Ball last year; that had been a _disaster_. He'd tripped over his own feet almost more than Ron had, and had ultimately proven himself to be the world's biggest klutz. He'd gone with Hannah Abbot—not an experience he wanted to repeat. It was not the best date he'd ever had; not that he'd ever had many good dates at all.

He paced the dormitory alone, pushing thoughts of Hermione out of his mind and attempting to think about Ginny. Nevermind that it wasn't working very well. All he could see when he closed his eyes was soft brown curls and that sparkle in her eye when she'd told him, "_You're fidgeting_." Harry felt his mouth go dry. The last thing he should be thinking about right now was Hermione, but she filled his thoughts. He wanted her, needed her. _Loved—_but he wouldn't allow himself to even finish that thought. Ridiculousness. They'd spent one real evening in each other's company over the past several months, and had barely spoken in the month that had passed since that night. Harry despaired that she would ever look at him with anything but cool detachment in her eyes again. He was disgusted with himself.

The minutes ticked by faster than he could follow. In what felt like thirty seconds, he looked up at the clock on the wall—it was nine thirty.

--

Harry looked on wistfully as Hermione conquered the dance floor in the expert arms of Lee Jordan. The pair whirled about to the fast-paced tango, neither of them once missing a beat. It was amazing to watch—for everyone who _wasn't_ completely mad for one of the dancers. Ron, sitting beside Harry, felt somewhat of the same way, and was following their movements with a very mournful look on his face. Harry glanced at his friend and elbowed him. "Oh, stop crying, she _came_ with you," he said with a forced smile. Ron gave a short grin.

"Yeah...I guess. I just can't dance a bloody step," he said dryly. Harry shrugged.

"Neither can I."

"But _Ginny _can't either, so it doesn't matter for you. Just _look_ at Hermione."

"Yeah..." Harry didn't need to be told to—he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her the whole night. In fact, Ginny, on his other side, turned towards him rather irritably and frowned.

"Harry, will you please dance with me for _once?_"

"This song's too fast," he said without looking away from Hermione, then flinched and turned to Ginny when she hit his arm lightly. "What?"

"You've said the same thing for every dance!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "Too fast, too slow, too weird—are you even listening! What is _wrong_ with you tonight?"

"Nothing!" Harry said, his eyes back on Hermione. "Just gorgeous..."

Beside him, Ginny turned bright pink and looked delighted. "Thank you!" she giggled, brushing his arm and looking down at her lap with a smile on her face. Harry looked round at her and paused, confused, then realized he'd said it out loud and flushed.

"Er—y-you're welcome," he stammered, coughing. _PHEW!_ He mentally wiped sweat off his brow. He'd been thinking of Hermione, of course, when he said that a moment ago. It was the luckiest break he'd ever had that he hadn't actually spoken her name as well. _Too_ close a call, he decided. Harry stood up abruptly. He had to get his mind off of her. "Drink?" he asked Ginny cheerfully. She smiled up at him.

"Yes, if you don't mind," she said, looking pleased. "Another lemonade if there's any left."

"Nothing ever runs out here," Harry winked, and started to leave. Ron tugged at his dress robes.

"Mind grabbing me a Butterbeer while you're at it?"

Harry sighed. "Am I just the busboy for the table now?"

Both Ron and Ginny broke out into identical grins. "Yes," said Ginny cheekily.

"Wankers, the pair of you," Harry said flatly, shaking his head and chuckling, and made his way over to the drink table. He was so intent on pouring Ginny's lemonade without spilling it everywhere that he didn't hear the person come up behind him and tap his shoulder. He was inexplicably startled and accidentally did what he'd been trying to avoid. Lemonade seeped over the white tablecloth, the stain slowly spreading. A wand flicked out.

"_Scourgify_," muttered an all-too-familiar voice. "Hi, Harry."

Harry turned to look down into warm brown eyes that still dazzled him. She was smiling. She hardly ever smiled at him anymore; not since..._no!_ No thinking about that night! He scolded himself firmly. Hermione tilted her head slightly and asked a question with her eyes. Harry shook his head slightly in dismissal. Hermione's expression smoothed and she smiled again. It was amazing how they communicated almost without words, even after so long with little to no interaction. Perhaps that was why—they'd learned how from a month's practice. "Hi," he said finally. Hermione laughed.

"Having fun?"

"Well...sure, I guess," Harry shrugged. He glanced at the table beside him and picked up the two glasses full of lemonade. "I'm supposed to take this to Ginny."

"Yeah, I was getting something myself...back to the table together?" Hermione said, laughing a bit nervously, and Harry nodded, following her when she turned with her drink towards the tables around the edges of the Great Hall. When they saw their table from a few feet away, Dean was standing by it, having what looked like a heated argument with Ginny. Ron was nowhere to be found. Harry and Hermione slowed down worriedly, unsure of what to do. Suddenly Ginny stood up and slapped Dean across the face as hard as she could. Everyone in the immediate vicinity stopped what they were doing and stared. Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Dean snarled something, then stormed off in a fury. Ginny whirled around, saw Harry, and started weeping uncontrollably. She fled in the opposite direction. Harry looked round at Hermione in total shock and bewilderment, and she shrugged helplessly. Ron came up behind them.

"What's going on?"

"Ginny slapped Dean—she just ran off crying over there," Harry said, and held up the drinks he was carrying. "I don't know what happened but they were fighting—"

"_What?_" Ron growled, and started stalking off in the direction Dean had taken when Harry hastily put down the glasses and grabbed the back of his friend's robes. Hermione took Ron's arm and made him look at her.

"Go see to Ginny," she said quietly. "She doesn't need you beating up guys for her, she needs your shoulder."

"Aren't you going to go see to her?" Ron asked Harry, who shrugged.

"I—I guess so. I'm not very good at this, though," he warned as he hurried over to her. She was sitting at a table with Luna Lovegood, her head buried in her arms, shoulders shaking. Luna looked up at Harry and shook her head, giving an apologetic little smile and shrugging as if to say 'There's nothing I can do.' Harry nodded and slid into the seat on Ginny's other side, hesitantly touching her arm. Luna silently retreated, leaving the two of them more or less alone in the corner of the room. Ginny peeked out at him, then quickly covered her face again, sobbing even harder. Harry patted her back a bit and murmured, "It's okay, it's okay."

"It's _not_ okay," came the muffled reply, along with a sniff. "He hates me."

"Dean doesn't hate you..." Harry said, not actually having the foggiest idea of Dean's point of view. "He's just angry. What...what were you two fighting about, anyway?" he asked carefully, trying not to upset her. He was still patting her back, and it seemed to be helping. The shaking had calmed.

"He—" Ginny said, hiccupping every so often, "He thinks I—I fancy you, which is _ridiculous_ of—of course, and he's je-jealous, and he gets so _mad_ and p-possessive that he makes me just want to scream at him, and he's _furious_ that I came to the ball with you, says it j-just proves what he's been saying all a-along and I couldn't stand to hear him talking l-like that, he was m-making me feel so _stupid_...so I s-slapped him," she said, finally raising her chin onto her arms and glancing at Harry. A shaky, watery smile lit her pretty features. She wasn't one of those girls who got all blotchy and gross when she cried; she was a rarity that could pull off beauty even in tears. Harry would have had to be a complete dunderhead not to notice. But even now as a very (_very_, added the voice in the back of his head) pretty girl, his best friend's younger sister, poured her heart out to him, he couldn't help imagining what Hermione looked like when she cried. _Red, puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks,_ the voice informed him. Harry smiled faintly. It was better that way.

"Yeah, I saw that slap. It was a good one," he admitted with a grin. Ginny laughed reluctantly and wiped her eyes with a napkin.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm such a mess lately. Ugh..." she said fretfully, looking around for something. Harry jumped to his feet.

"Oh! I'll be back in a second," he said, hurried back over to their own table, grabbed her drink from in front of Ron, and hurried back. He sat down beside her again and pushed the glass towards her. "Lemonade?"

Ginny laughed and accepted the drink. "Thanks. Listen...not that this isn't fun...but if you want to go, you can. You don't have to sit here with me."

"No, no—it's fine," Harry said. He wasn't even lying. He knew that if he left and was around Hermione instead, much worse situations could occur. Like Hermione spontaneously deciding to talk to him again. God, who knew if he'd be able to control himself?

"Harry, really—I think I just want to be alone right now," Ginny said, sounding lonely, and rested her head on her arms again, facing away from Harry. He stood up slowly, not wanting to leave her by herself like this. She shifted a little, sniffing. "Actually...could you, um...send Ron? Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Harry said, patting her head a little awkwardly, and made his way over to the regular table.

"Ron, I want to _dance_!" Hermione was saying. Ron stood up with her, sighing.

"Fine, _fine_—" they saw Harry and stopped. "How is she?"

"She wants to talk to you," Harry said, looking at his friend. Hermione frowned slightly.

"Are you sure? Maybe I should...sometimes girls are better at—"

"She's _my_ little sister," Ron said defensively. He glanced at Hermione, who nodded but still looked a little bent out of shape. He sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, you're right," she said, looking sulky. "I just wanted to dance and when you _finally_ said okay you have to go see to Ginny."

Ron ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly, then lit up with an idea. "Look, dance with Harry. You'll dance with her for me, right?" Ron said, moving around the table and clapping Harry on the back as the black-haired boy mouthed soundless words of protest. "Thanks, mate," Ron smiled, and headed off to comfort Ginny. Harry turned to look helplessly at Hermione.

"Maybe we should just sit it out," he said nervously, moving to sit down, but Hermione had other ideas.

"Why? We have _no reason_ not to," she said, eyes flashing momentarily. Harry winced inwardly, swallowed—hard—and nodded reluctant agreement.

"If you insist."

She took his hand—the buzzing in his stomach exploded into nervous tension at the touch—and led him out onto the dance floor. They had just found a small space when the song ended and a new one began. It was slow. Harry shook his head violently at Hermione and shrugged.

"Oh well, guess we can't dance now—er—what are you doing?" he asked, faltering as she took his hands and placed them on her waist, and then put her arms around his neck. Almost against his will and definitely against his better judgment, he started to sway to the music. She did too. Harry swallowed with difficulty. The lump in his throat felt about the size of a Hippogriff. He hadn't physically been this close to her since NO! He scolded himself again. _Damn, damn, damn,_ he swore inwardly as he felt the strains of keeping his intense attraction to her at bay. She glanced nervously up at him, and they both laughed somewhat as they simultaneously acknowledged the gaping foot of space between them.

It was Hermione who acted on it and pulled herself closer to Harry, wrapping her arms more tightly around his neck. He swallowed again, trying and failing miserably to drown out his thunderous heartbeat that he was _sure_ she and everyone around them could hear. He desperately tried to block out the rush of memories that were flooding back; memories of her taste, her touch...if he leaned just a tiny bit closer—there it was. He could quite literally feel himself becoming intoxicated with her, just as he had a month ago. Breathing became more difficult. He could feel beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

The biggest mistake he made, though, was looking down at her just at the same moment as she looked up at him. Topaz melted into emerald as their eyes met, and he found himself leaning his head down as she tilted hers up. The look on her face was the same one that she'd had just before she'd kissed him that night. Harry caught his breath. _She still wanted him._ Good lord, and he wanted her. They were holding each other so close. Her leg shifted against his as they moved and Harry slid his hands up her back, pulling her in. Her breasts crushed against the front of him. Their breath was mingling in the scant inches of air between them...something exploded in Harry's chest as their lips connected tremblingly for the tiniest of moments—

"Mind if I cut in?"

"BAH!" Harry yelped, springing away from Hermione as Ron's voice sliced through the moment from behind him. Had he seen it? Had he seen them? _No, no, NO_—but Ron was grinning good-naturedly. Oblivious. Harry almost fainted with relief and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Hermione nearly do the same. "Haaa...hi, Ron!" Harry gulped, turning around to face his friend and blocking Hermione, thereby giving her time to smooth her expression. "Yeah," Harry said in response to Ron's question. "Please, take her," he added with a shaky grin. "I'm trodding all over everyone's feet."

Ron laughed. "I can see you doing that, mate. Thanks for dancing with her," he smiled. Harry shook his head.

"Really, Ron—_don't_ mention it." He glanced at Hermione, who looked at him. "It was my pleasure." Harry didn't break eye contact with her while he said it. Hermione blushed slightly and lowered her gaze down to the floor. Ron didn't notice the meaning behind the exchange. How could he?

"Ginny wanted to dance with you," Ron said, tilting his head towards Hermione in a clear indication that he wanted to be left alone with her. Harry nodded and backed away, then turned and made his way through the crowd to the table where Ginny still sat. He slid into the chair beside her.

"Want to dance?"

She smiled. "Okay."

He led her onto the floor as the music switched to a fast waltz. Taking her hand and putting one hand on her waist, he whirled her about like everyone else who was dancing. Harry was surprised to find himself actually remembering which steps came next, quite unlike last year. He only had to look down at their feet twice, and didn't tread on Ginny once. All in all he was very proud of himself. He was letting loose a bit and even beginning to have fun when they waltzed past Ron and Hermione. Just at that moment, the crucial one during which Harry and Hermione's eyes connected, Ron leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. An instant later his two friends were out of sight, but the gut-wrenching feeling of sick jealousy only intensified. Harry guided Ginny to the side of the room as the song ended, sat her down and mumbled something about needing air, then somehow managed to stay upright as he strode quickly from the Great Hall. Once he was outside in the gardens he stumbled, searching numbly for a place to sit down. He found it on the edge of a fountain.

Harry sank his head into his hands, elbows on knees. He couldn't keep on like this. It was mad. It was beyond mad, it was ludicrous. Ridiculous. It made no _sense_. A month ago, two months ago, he was fine. Hermione was just Hermione. But now she was _Hermione_. Harry groaned. He needed a break. He needed to get away from all this, from her, from Ron, from that _kiss_ that was making his insides churn and writhe. He shook his head, still in his hands, eyes closed. What was wrong with him? How was it humanly possible for him to be so intensely attracted to someone he'd known for so long this suddenly? All because of one night that he had slowly started to regret—or feel like he _should_ regret. The fact of the matter was he couldn't really regret it at all. Not while he still remembered the feel of her mouth on his, the feel of her fingertips pressing into his back, the taste and scent of her, her skin—

_Stop it,_ he warned himself. Mustn't get lost in all that again. He was concentrating so hard on not thinking about her that he nearly gave himself whiplash when his head snapped up at the sound of her voice calling his name.

"Harry?"

"What?" he croaked, his own voice not working properly. It was probably a side effect of what he'd seen scant minutes ago. He saw her walking towards him, and looked away. He couldn't stand to look at her right now.

"Harry, I—"

"Don't bother," Harry said sulkily. Hermione put her hands on her hips and stood over him.

"Will you just listen?"

"I saw you, all right? What does it matter?" he retorted bitterly, still not looking at her. Hermione's eyes flashed.

"I'm trying to apologize here! The _least_ you could do is hear me out!"

Harry reluctantly looked up at her. "What?"

She glared down at him. "When Ron kissed me, I pushed him off. I didn't _enjoy_ it; I didn't just let him go on. I don't want you to have the wrong idea."

"Well, it's not as if we're _dating_ or anything, what do you care?" Harry said scathingly.

"You know, it's nice to be liked," she said suddenly, hugging herself. "I don't know if you've noticed, with your sulking all the time, but Ron's been so attentive to me. He pulls out my chair, he always sits beside me, he goes out of his way to make time with me by _studying_, for heaven's sake, and this past whole month all _you've_ done is sit in silence and sulk!"

Harry stood up in her face. "Oh, that is bullshit. Ron doesn't have a clue about how to treat—"

"Well at least he shows that he likes me—"

"Do I have to spell it out for you? Is it not _obvious?_" Harry cried. That shut her up. For a split second he was satisfied, and then he looked more closely at the astonishment in her eyes. It wasn't POSSIBLE that she hadn't known...all this time...? "God, Hermione," he rasped, his voice leaving him again. She was altogether too close for comfort. "Do you really think I didn't _care?_"

There were no words to express the emotion in her eyes. So, she didn't use any. Hermione reached out and touched Harry's cheek, and he closed his eyes, turning his face into the palm of her hand. She drew him in and he kissed her with bruising force. God, how _good _it felt to do it again. Harry inhaled and smiled without breaking the kiss, bringing his arms up around her back and crushing her to him. His body had ached for the feel of her; now he had it. It was—if at all possible—even better than he remembered. Hermione wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, deepening the kiss. When she finally pulled herself away, Harry buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her close. "I'm sorry," he murmured. She shook her head.

"Don't be, it's okay. Just...maybe we should find a less...out-in-the-open area to do this, shouldn't we?" When Harry looked at her with one eyebrow raised, Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Not _that_," she said, flicking him on the forehead. "Just if we're going to tell Ron...I don't want him to find out this way."

"Yeah, I know, me neither," Harry sighed, reluctantly letting go of her. "Wait a minute, though. So...you really had _no_ idea I still...?"

Hermione faced him. "I couldn't tell if you did or not. You were so quiet...I thought...maybe you regretted it. I knew Ron still fancied me, it was even more obvious than usual."

"Well, Ron has no subtle bone in his body."

"At least he knows how to be honest about his feelings."

"Don't let's start this argument again, Hermione, please," Harry begged. She looked at him skeptically. "We're just going to end up fighting and the same thing that happened last time is—"

"Oh, so you think we should keep everything a secret all over again, do you? Is that what it is? You're too afraid to tell Ron you _want_ me?"

"No. I just—I don't know..."

"_Do_ you want me or don't you?" she asked, jutting her chin out at him and planting one fist on her hip.

Harry felt heat rise in his collar. "Er." _Yes._ Overwhelmingly, unutterably yes. But that wasn't something you just out and _said._ He coughed. "Er, um." Why did she do this to him? Render him totally useless for regular conversation? Surely she knew the effect she had on him. That was part of the reason he'd been so quiet with her this past month—he kept getting tongue-tied around her.

Hermione took a step forward, invading his personal space. Scant inches separated them now. She leaned in close, softly pressing her lips to his jaw line, and he was swamped with buzzing tingles. Holy jumping Hippogriffs. What a woman. "Well?" she asked, her voice low and husky. Harry had _never_ seen this side of Hermione before. Where the hell was it coming from? Surely it wasn't _him_ bringing it out in her? But then again, maybe it was. Merlin. Now she was softly kissing his throat, and hell if he was going to let her get away with _that_ so easily. Harry wrapped one hand in her hair—giving no thought to the long process it had probably taken to get it done up all fancy for the ball—and pulled, so that her face was turned up to his and he could see fully the expression on her face; parted lips, slightly glazed eyes, spots of colour highlighting her cheekbones. Harry kissed her mouth again and felt her yield under him. It was intoxicating.

When they broke apart for air, one of her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck that she was nearly lifting herself off the ground, errant locks of her hair falling down around her face, her lips swollen from the kiss, Harry very nearly fell over. He didn't know what had got into them, Merlin only knew, but boy was this fun.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hermione grinned, her eyes hooded and lazy with satisfaction.

Harry grinned back. "Do," he said. "You were right, though. We shouldn't do this where everyone can see. Don't need another Rita Skeeter getting wind of this."

"No, indeed," Hermione nodded, reluctantly letting go of Harry. She heaved a sigh as she picked up a lock of her straying hair and let it drop. "Well, so much for three hours of letting Lavender and Parvati abuse my head."

Harry suddenly felt suspicious. Was this a situation where the girl was fishing for a compliment? Should he tell her she looked nice anyway? She _did_ look nice anyway. His gaze raked over her in appreciation. All disheveled and swollen-lipped and breathy. He'd never seen a girl look better, as a matter of fact. Right, er, compliment. "You—you still look nice," he said, and cringed inwardly as he heard himself say it. It sounded forced even to him. Why was he _bollocks_ at talking to _girls?_ It was just Hermione!

Maybe that was it, he told himself. Maybe he just needed to think about it like he was simply talking to his friend. Harry cleared his throat as Hermione arched an amused eyebrow. "I mean...it doesn't matter you're all, er, rumpled. Not that you are. Er. You just look...very good. Anyway." He let slip a little sheepish smile. Hermione blushed. Success!

"Thank you," she said, and Harry beamed. "I know I'll never hold a candle to someone like Ginny, but it's nice to know I clean up well at least."

Harry took a tiny step back, looking at Hermione incredulously. "What?"

She shrugged, the movement small. "I don't know. She's much prettier than I am, and she's had heaps of boyfriends. I wasn't surprised you took her to the ball, really."

Harry's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Hang on...are you saying you're _jealous?_"

"Of _course_ I'm jealous, you imbecile," Hermione muttered darkly, blushing and not meeting his eyes. "Was it not entirely clear that I've fancied you for months?"

"How long exactly was it?" Harry asked curiously.

"Never you mind. Stop sidetracking me—the point is we both came with other people and that was stupid."

"Agreed," said Harry fervently. "Ginny asked me, actually. She was all upset over Dean not taking her and I said okay because otherwise I wouldn't have had anyone to go with, and—I thought I'd look like a wanker coming alone," he muttered. Hermione snorted.

"Oh, yes, quite. Instead you decided to come with one of the prettiest, most popular girls around our age, and rub _that_ in my face."

"Well, you were coming with my best mate! I wasn't exactly well pleased with the arrangements, either!"

"Harry, please," she said.

"Honestly, Hermione—you'd think what happened meant nothing to you, the way you've been acting." When Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and just looked at him, Harry swore under his breath—why was she so frustrating? Why was this all so difficult?—and turned around to face away from her, to feel the cool night air on his heated face. And froze. His chest constricted—all the blood drained from his face and he turned paler than the moon that was hanging silently among the stars, high up in the dark night sky.

Ron stood watching them from about fifteen feet away, a look of incredulous disbelief on his face.


End file.
